Christmas Fare
by Tracy2
Summary: An undercover assignment puts Steve at risk over the holidays. This is a short three chapter story for Christmas - pure DM none of my usual original characters. I hope you enjoy. STORY COMPLETE. Happy Christmas.
1. For Hire

**Christmas Fare A Festive Story in three parts. **

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction, written, and hopefully read, strictly for enjoyment. The main characters of Mark, Steve, Amanda and Jesse, as well as any others you recognise are from the series Diagnosis Murder, and as such are the property of CBS/Viacom. Anyone that is new belongs to me.

I have a wonderful set of beta readers who encourage me constantly. I am enormously grateful to them for all the help they have given me again this year, and hope they have a great Christmas. Time line: This story takes place during the first Christmas after Carol's death.

**Chapter One For Hire **

He knew he shouldn't feel fed up, that he was just being selfish, but he couldn't help it. With a deep sigh Mark poured the cold coffee down the sink and then made his way back across the tidy kitchen.

There was only a few days to go until Christmas, the beach house should be full of activity, with presents waiting under the decorated tree, the exterior of his home all lit up, and a freezer groaning with food, instead there was nothing.

Steve had drawn the short straw and was working all day, every day, until the 26th, including Christmas Eve and Christmas day; Mark supposed that it was fair really, his son wasn't married, he didn't have children to share the special day with. Jesse was working too, a double shift, which would take him from the late evening on the 24th through until the same time on the 25th. Mark shook his head, that very morning Amanda had come to him and said that Ron had invited her and the boys to spend a white Christmas with him at Quantico. She wouldn't go if he didn't want her to though.

So, everyone was busy, everyone had plans, whether voluntary ones or not, which he wasn't a part of. Even the pre-Christmas tasks, such as dressing the tree, and doing the festive shop had been put off and put off. Another deep sigh escaped him as he picked up a picture from the coffee table in the dining room. Steve looked up at him, his blue eyes shining, Jesse and Amanda were there too, and behind them was last year's tree. Carol had been alive then, not in touch, but safe and well, and although he had missed her the ache wasn't there, not like it was now. A tear slid onto his cheek and, as he was alone, Mark let it fall; maybe Christmas here, this year at least, wasn't a good idea after all. The memories had been threatening to overwhelm him ever since they had scattered his daughter's ashes to the four winds, and he had a feeling that a time of year which she had loved so much might be special enough, strong enough, to cause him to start crying and be unable to stop.

ooo

Steve huddled himself further into his jacket and wished that he was spending his morning anyplace other than where he was, which was in the driver's seat of a very battered yellow cab. The guilt he felt at lying to his dad about his whereabouts was only tempered by the fact that what he didn't know he couldn't spend hours worrying over, he just hoped everything went according to plan. Jesse knew, someone had to, and his best friend had promised not to say anything unless things did go wrong.

There had been five taxi drivers killed over the past six months, all of them shot, at point blank range, in the back of the head. After a couple of days their bodies were found back in their cabs obviously tortured and relieved of their takings. First of all it had appeared as if there was no link between the five, apart from the same weapon being used, but as the killings continued a tentative link had been noticed which had, with the final slaying, been deemed strong enough for the Captain to take the dangerous step of sending two of his own men out to work the day and night shifts with the hope of making an arrest. Robert Brannigan had gotten the nights and he was working the days, at least this week he was, the previous week it had been the other way round. So far they had caught no one, but they had learnt a great deal, most of it about things they hadn't wanted to know. If he had still been working vice Steve could have increased his arrest rate by about 60 percent, but he was supposed to be undercover, so he had just kept his eyes on the road and wished he were someplace else. He was back on days and he was still wishing that!

ooo

The expected call hadn't come and Jesse was getting worried. Steve had promised him that he would stay in contact, would let him know every two hours or so how his undercover assignment was going; that way Jesse wouldn't have to prepare his friend and mentor for the worst.

The arrangements that his best friend had made with him had surprised Jesse, and he had realised that not only was Steve entrusting him with a very big secret, but also telling him, in a round about way, that this assignment had him more scared than he had been in a long time. Amanda had done two of the autopsies on the cab driver victims, and she had been visibly upset on each occasion. Jesse had a sealed envelope in his possession which contained a request from Steve to the coroner that Amanda be denied access to even the paperwork if he became the sixth victim of the killer they were dubbing the Fare Man.

The case had been all over the papers since the first slaying, and Jesse could tell that Mark had been relieved when Steve hadn't been the cop who took the initial call. Serial killers were a law unto themselves, they knew Steve's job was dangerous, but they also knew that he was experienced and wily when he had to be. A serial killer broke all the rules though, and no amount of experience or deviousness was enough to second-guess them. If Steve didn't get in touch soon Jesse knew that he would have to tell Mark that this time the deviousness had been used to protect his father, and he wasn't sure how Mark would handle that.

His cell phone rang as he processed these thoughts and he pulled it from his pocket and pressed the connect button as he did so. "Steve?"

"Jess, please … tell dad I love him, arghhhhhh!" The phone suddenly went dead in his hand and he dropped it, unable to keep a hold on it. With a groan Jesse sank down into the chair behind him in the empty trauma suite incapable of doing or saying anything else.

ooo

The room was dark apart from the regular intrusion of a flashing Christmas tree shaped house decoration from the other side of the street that cast an elongated green and red shadow across the floor in front of him.

Steve hadn't been able to believe his luck when his captor hadn't taken his cell phone, and he had prayed that he wouldn't realise his mistake before he had had the chance to use it. He had waited too long in his anxiety not to get caught however, and had just connected with Jesse when the man who held his fate in his hands had come back and he had changed what he wanted to say, thinking of his father and what his captivity would do to him. He had just started speaking when the man had struck him with what looked like a baseball bat that had also sent the phone clattering to the floor where it had shattered into a myriad of pieces before he had landed amongst it, unconscious and bleeding.

The flashing decoration seemed to be keeping time with the pounding of his head, and Steve had no idea how long he had been laid out by the attack with the bat. However long it had been it had given his jailer time to roughly tie his ankles together as well as his wrists. His shoes and socks had been removed, and Steve knew that the toes of two of the previous victims had been broken during their torture.

A shudder passed through him as he thought of the injuries he had read about as each victim's details had arrived on his desk. It hadn't been his case, the publicity the killings had generated hadn't included him and that was one reason why he had been chosen for the driving duties. As he moved slightly to try and get the circulation back into his gradually numbing legs Steve tried to recall how he had found himself in this position, knowing that he needed to keep his wits about him if he was to stay alive long enough to be found.

_"You for hire?"_

_"That's what the sign says." Steve looked in his wing mirror to see the clean-shaven, smartly dressed man behind the voice._

_His cab had been hailed on the corner of Magnolia Boulevard and Irvine Avenue just as Steve was about to go off duty for a well-earned lunch break. He was only five minutes from the station, and guessed his guard had been down, but the man had seemed to pose no threat._

_"Where d'you wanna go?" Steve had switched the 'for hire' light off and wound up his window._

_"Riverside Drive." _

_Steve pulled away from the curb; it was maybe a five-minute journey, eight if the traffic was heavy. He would still have time for lunch and to call Jesse. He opened his microphone and relayed the details back to dispatch and then turned onto Wiltshire Avenue._

_"Which end d'you want?"_

_"It doesn't really matter, since we aren't stopping there." The unmistakable feel of a gun muzzle against his neck caused Steve to take a sudden breath in. The screen between the front and rear of the cab was open, he hadn't heard it move but it most definitely had._

_"If you want my money, man, just take it." Steve tried to move his hand towards the radio but heard the gun being cocked._

_"Try it and I'll blow your brains all over your cab. It makes no difference to me where you die."_

_Steve turned into Riverside Drive not indicating, not even slowing down, hoping that someone would do more than just blare their horn at him, but no one batted an eye, and he knew that the bad driving of some cabbies was hastening his fate._

_The instructions had come thick and fast after that, and Steve had driven as recklessly as his gun toting passenger would allow, but to no avail and when they had finally pulled over to the side of the street he was beginning to lose his bearings._

The door to his prison opened, flooding the room with artificial light and Steve squinted up to where he could see the outline of his captor.

"We're awake then, good. It's no fun if you aren't." The tone of voice and the baseball bat that the man held in his hand caused Steve's blood to run cold, and he tried to back away from the advancing shadow.

"What … what do you want?" He had no identifying information on him, so he knew that this guy had no idea he was a cop, not that it would make any difference, he'd killed five times already, he would get the death penalty whether he murdered a police officer or not.

"I want you to suffer, that's what I want. You and your kind. I want you to suffer like I have, like we have, and then I'll kill you."


	2. Trip in Progress

**A Christmas Fare**

**Chapter Two Trip in Progress**

"And you're sure about this, Doctor Travis?"

"I'm hardly likely to come down here and make it all up am I?" Jesse felt anger mingle with his fear to produce a snapped answer.

"No, I guess not. Does Doctor Sloan know any of this?" Captain Newman looked across at the young man sitting in the chair the other side of his desk and he could see that he was barely holding it all together.

"Not yet. I thought it was better for you to start looking for Steve before I broke his heart. Captain, this is the first Christmas without Carol, Steve knows that his dad is suffering, and he didn't want this assignment, but he wasn't given any choice. And now it looks like Mark is going to suffer even more." Jesse's voice had risen with each word and Captain Newman had felt himself take a mental step back from the young man's wrath.

"What exactly did he say, Doctor?"

Jesse closed his eyes, just momentarily, before reliving the call. "He said my name, and …" he had to pause, the call had been personal, heartfelt, and Jesse wished he had spoken to Mark first. "He gave me a message for Mark and then … then he screamed."

Captain Newman got to his feet and moved to the door of his office. "Banks, get in here, and someone get me Brannigan on the phone."

"Doctor, I want you to leave, speak with Doctor Sloan, but keep him away from here. We will find Steve, but it will be easier and quicker without any additional help from outside sources."

Jesse said nothing, he just stood up, nodded at Cheryl and left the room, knowing that Mark wouldn't need anyone's permission to become additional help and that no one would stop him from searching for his only remaining child.

ooo

The boot, which made contact with his ribs, had so much power behind it that it lifted him clean off the floor and sent him flying into the wall behind him. Unable to protect himself from any of the instruments of torture being used against him Steve could only cry out as again his battered body was assaulted.

"Why … why are you doing this?" The swollen lips and loose teeth slurred his words; both had been received when a clenched fist had slammed into his face at the beginning of his beating.

"Because it makes me feel better." A large hand grabbed Steve around the throat and hauled him upwards, causing him to wretch and gag.

"Mister, I … drive a cab, what … have I ever done to you?" His vision was blurring, slivers of silver light invading from the corners of his eyes as he struggled for breath enough to speak.

The hand increased its pressure for a moment and then suddenly moved away and Steve fell in a helpless heap at the man's feet. He coughed and rasped as he tried to get air into his oxygen-starved body, wishing that his hands were free, so that he could get onto all fours and relieve the pressure on his damaged ribs and back. Instead he just lay there helplessly as he listened, finally, to why he was here.

"You killed my sister."

ooo

The room had been silent for so long that Jesse was concerned Mark had retreated in on himself. Unable to tell his friend alone what had happened, Jesse had told Amanda first and they had gathered Mark up and taken him to his crowded but friendly office to pass the news on in a place of relative privacy. That office was now totally quiet and Jesse was becoming desperate to say something, anything, to break the silence that surrounded him.

"I need to speak with Cheryl."

"Pardon?" Finally Mark had spoken and Jesse, caught up in the silence, had missed it.

"Cheryl, I need to speak with her. If Newman won't let me in the squad room then I'll bypass him. There must be something in the case notes which will tell us where Steve might be."

"Mark, why don't you let the police handle this one? All of us are far too emotionally involved to be rational about it." Amanda tried to keep her voice steady, tried to steer her oldest friend away from the course she knew he was intent on taking because she also knew that it would only lead to heartache.

"No! He … he is all I have left, he … he said he loved me." Mark gulped in air, trying to push the tears back down, "There has to be away to find him."

Amanda looked away for a moment, realising that she couldn't stop him from searching and the vision of the last cab driver she had autopsied came up into her mind. He had been tall, about Steve's height, a good-looking black man called Nathan Germain, at least the photo she had seen of him had shown him to be good-looking. The body however, was that of a man whose entire face had been systematically beaten and broken. His ribs had been smashed on the right hand side of the body, repeatedly hit, she had determined, with something akin to a baseball bat. The toes on his left foot were broken, and he had been shot, at point blank range, in the base of the skull, the bullet severing the spinal cord before exiting through the man's upper chest.

Nathan had visited Amanda in her dreams for over a week after she had finished working on him, she knew that were Steve to suffer the same fate none of them would ever recover from it, and she was certain that it would kill Mark, gradually, bit by bit, until he would be so far removed from the man he was now that the killer would have claimed another victim.

She turned back as she heard Mark's voice speaking on the phone his grief coming out as anger and frustration.

"I'm not asking for you to divulge confidential information, Cheryl, but this is my son, I just want to know where he was when he was … taken … and where the others were when it happened to them." Amanda and Jesse could hear Cheryl on the other end of the line, not words, just the sound of her voice, and they could tell from Mark's body language that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"So, e-mail it to me. It won't take long, and maybe I can help you … of course I won't … yes, that's right … bye." The phone was slammed back into its rest and Mark strode across the room to his computer, switching it on and sitting down almost in one movement, and then, with his e-mail page up on the screen in front of him, he waited.

ooo

The instant technology which they all relied on so much seemed to take forever to deliver the information that Mark was waiting for, but finally, after a little over five minutes, a notice came up showing that he had mail and both Jesse and Amanda moved a little closer so that they could see what Cheryl had sent. 

ooo

"I did what?" Steve was still finding talking difficult, but he knew that he had to strike up a dialogue with this guy, had to try and postpone the inevitable so that the captain could find him, rescue him, before his dad had to suffer the death of both children in one year. The thought of that very nearly made him collapse, but he pushed the emotions to one side and tried to focus on the slightly shaky face in front of him.

"My sister, you killed her."

"I drive a cab, I don't kill people. You've got it all wrong."

"She was in a cab when she was killed. If the driver had been more careful she would still be here, and I wouldn't have to be doing this."

"You … you don't have to do it anyway." Steve closed his eyes for a moment, it was getting harder and harder to breath, and talking as well was almost impossible.

"What do you know? How can you possibly understand what I'm going through?" The man swung the baseball bat round as he spoke, and although he tried to move out of its way Steve was still struck on the upper arm and sent sprawling.

"Arghhh!" The pain radiated down through his body, his left hand went numb and the world exploded around him. For a moment Steve was sure that he was going to lose consciousness, but he fought against it. "My … my sister died, I can't kill those responsible, it … it wouldn't be right."

There was silence for a while as the man considered what he had heard and Steve used the time to try and collect himself a little and he fought the pain to marshal his thoughts once more. He knew that if his captor followed the pattern of his previous killings he had at least one night here, maybe two before his body would be put into his cab and left in a parking lot downtown. At this time of year, with all the Christmas shoppers it may not be so easy to dispose of him, and that thought gave Steve a perverse pleasure as he tried to work out a way to prevent himself from becoming victim number six.

ooo

The map of Los Angeles was spread out across the dining table and the details of each killing was laying with a piece of kitchen string pinning it to the location of the body. Now Jesse was carefully putting some of the red string, which Mark used to hang Christmas cards, from the details to the abduction points. There didn't seem to be any connection between the first set of pins, and Jesse knew that Mark was counting on their being one for the second set.

"What did Steve tell you, Jesse?" Mark was trying not to feel hurt and betrayed by his son's actions, but to see them as the behaviour of the loyal and caring man he knew he was.

Jesse had realized that Mark would want to know all that he knew, but if he was honest it was precious little. With a deep breath to help him prepare, Jesse began to speak.

"He said that he had been assigned to the Fare Man case, that he was going undercover to try and get a handle on the guy who was killing the cabbies." Jesse paused for a moment, not really sure how to carry on.

"And … what else did he say?" Mark was peering over his glasses at his young friend, trying to sound less than desperate for news of any kind about his son.

"He said that he knew it was a bad case and the assignment was dangerous but that five homes were gonna be without dads this Christmas and he had to do it. He also said that it was because his own family was so important to him that he owed it to the wives and children of those cab drivers to find the killer before he struck again." Jesse couldn't continue; he put down the string he was holding and made his way towards the deck. Family was important to him too, but not the immediate relatives that Steve had meant. Mark, Amanda and Steve were the backbone of his life, and Steve was more than a best friend, more than a brother. The trust that had been placed in him made Jesse even more determined to find his friend. Jesse realized that one of the reasons he knew about the case was that Steve was protecting his father, but he had come to him, had told him things and that trust would never be forgotten. Jesse took a deep breath in, he was hurting so badly himself but he knew Mark was suffering even more than he, and for the first time Jesse wasn't sure how to reach him.

ooo

"There's blood here, on the back of the driver's seat, I'm guessing it's Steve's, but I'll get it checked right away." Cheryl indicated for a Crime Scene Officer to come and take a scraping and then she moved back and opened the rear door.

"The screen was open, Steve would never have allowed that, he must have been distracted," she thought for a moment, "maybe he was calling in his fare, or watching for a break in traffic, whatever it was his attention was diverted someplace else, and our kil … perp got the upper hand." She crouched down outside the taxicab and played a flashlight over the carpeted floor. "A gum wrapper, we've had them before, carefully folded up into a square, a neat, almost perfectly accurate square. No prints, nothing else left behind, the only thing we have in our favour this time is that there is no body in the trunk."

"Yeah, well that doesn't make me feel a whole lot better." Robert Brannigan shivered slightly into his lightweight jacket, and wasn't sure whether it was the cool breeze or the fact that it could well be his cab being gone over for clues as to his whereabouts that made him feel cold.

"The dispatch operator said Steve called in a fare to Riverside Drive, which is about three or four miles from here. I don't think we would have found the cab without the LoJack in it."

"Beats me why they don't have 'em in all cabs, not just the two we were driving. And we only had 'em because Newman insisted."

Cheryl didn't answer, she knew there wasn't really anything to say, and that Brannigan was talking as much to himself as anyone else. She could see four uniformed officers checking vehicles and two others speaking to the men working the gate of the parking lot where Steve's cab had been found. She could tell that no one was getting anywhere and a deep sense of foreboding and helplessness descended on her as she stuffed her hands in her pockets and tried to work out what she was going to tell Mark Sloan.

ooo

The room had been totally quiet for a long time and Steve was having trouble keeping his panic at bay. His captor had left after kicking out at the fallen cop and as the daylight had gradually faded he had failed to return.

The final kick had broken at least one rib, and ever since then Steve had been coughing up blood. He knew that he was destined to die in the cold, inhospitable room that he was now in, but he wished that his dad wouldn't have to see how traumatised and bloody he had become before the shot was fired that would end his life.

Gradually, as the time had passed he had been making his way, inch, by painful inch, towards the door, having to do something to at least put up a show of resistance, but it hadn't been easy.

The blow from the baseball bat had definitely fractured his arm, and with it tied behind him the pain had quickly turned to agony. He also suspected that the broken ribs had punctured a lung and an all-encompassing feeling of despondency, which was becoming almost impossible to get rid of, hung over him.

The door was getting closer, but the distance he was able to cover each time before having to stop to catch his breath and battle the pain was getting smaller and smaller. The room around him was fading in and out of a grey haze, and Steve knew that his chance of staying conscious and putting up a reasonable fight was almost over. He pushed himself forward once more, but his bare feet slipped on the flooring sending him crashing down on his injured side.

"Arghhh, Dad … I'm sorry … I'm …" His voice faded away on his cry as he coughed once more before becoming totally still.

ooo

Mark and Amanda had given Jesse a little time to himself while they finished marking up the map, but then the necessity for speed, an extra pair of eyes, and a quick mind, had forced them to call him back to them. Now they were looking at the different locations and trying to see the connection.

"I think that the bodies were just left anywhere it was quiet and he wasn't likely to be seen. But the pick up points, there is definitely something there, look."

Mark was pointing to the shape that the pins were making on the map. Wherever you were standing around the table they made a square, a neat, almost perfectly accurate square.

ooo


	3. End of the Road

**Chapter Three End of the Road**

"So, what happened in this area?" Mark's voice was almost showing his frustration, as he asked his question for the third time. 

"The cabs were hijacked. Mark, we said that, what are you seeing that we aren't?" Amanda had her hand resting lightly on her friend's arm, hoping that he would see that they really were trying to help.

"I know that, Honey, but this guy, this Fare Man, whoever he is, must have a reason for killing these men. If he has a reason for the killings then he has a reason for choosing this area of town for his kidnappings."

Realization spread across the faces of his companions and, with a sense of renewed hope, they began to study the map a little more closely, each one of them desperate to see what it was that the killer was trying to tell them.

ooo

The night was black now, the Christmas tree light still beat in time with the throbbing agony of his injuries, and Steve was willing himself not to concentrate on the pain but on the good times he had spent during his life. The time he'd had with his mom, her smiling face, her voice, the softness of her hand in his, the memories had faded some, but were still there. He thought of his sister, the unfairness of her death had been eating away at him ever since he had stood with his father and watched her ashes as they were dispersed by the wind. He knew that his death was going to be no less unfair and he prayed that the strength both he and Carol possessed would be passed on to his father. He had smiled when he thought of his sister as stubborn and strong, they were so alike that he knew she would have described him that way too.

Steve didn't want to think about his dad, but knew that he would need his last moments on this earth to be full of his love and kindness. If he was stubborn and strong, honourable or principled it was because of his upbringing, because of the way his dad and his mom had guided him, the way his dad still did. A tear escaped and, because he was alone, Steve let it fall, he knew that life sometimes wasn't fair, that he had no more right to die in his own bed than anyone else, but right now he was scared, he was frightened, and he wanted his dad more than anything else in the world.

As he caught a sob in his throat the door to the room began to open and Steve, suddenly full of a need to do something, however foolhardy it may be, lunged round with his bound feet, catching at the ankles of his captor and causing him to fall beside him.

ooo

As he paced up and down waiting for Cheryl to answer her phone Mark realised that it had gotten dark without him even noticing. The lights were on in the main living areas of the beach house and he knew that Jesse and Amanda must have turned them on, if it had been left up to him they would have been working in the dark.

"Detective Banks." The tired voice of his son's partner broke into his thoughts and pulled him back to reality.

"Cheryl, Mark Sloan, I need you to run a check on something for me … there is a connection … between the locations where the drivers were taken … because he left a clue, every time he left a clue … yes I know it's after ten, but Steve doesn't have the time for me to hang around until morning … do you have a pencil?"

Jesse looked across at Amanda and then took her hand into his own and squeezed it gently. There was nothing that they could do now but wait, wait and pray. If Mark was wrong then they had nothing, if he was right then maybe, just maybe, they had the start of something, the problem was none of them knew how long Steve had left, nor did they know whether the information that Mark wanted would lead them to him or not.

"Cheryl, we'll come in, you get the details together and we'll see you in … in as long as it takes Jesse to drive there." He put the phone down, moving towards the front door as he did so, and Jesse and Amanda, sharing the urgency, were right behind him.

ooo

Steve had known that he shouldn't antagonise his keeper, but he hadn't been able to help himself. The exertion of tripping the man up had left him breathless and unable to counter the attack that was launched at him because of it.

Steve had always considered himself to be a fit man and he recognized power when he saw it. This man was powerful; he had swung round with the bat covering the distance between his own position on the floor and Steve's in the blink of an eye. The bat had made a sickening contact with his foot, the noise and the pain telling him of more broken bones. Unable to move away from the concerted onslaught Steve had been powerless to defend himself from the blows which rained down on him, and finally, despite the fight which was still in him, he had slipped away from the pain and down into unconsciousness to be left alone, but unaware, in a pool of his own blood.

ooo

There was a noise, he could hear a noise, and he knew that however faint and distant it seemed it was vital that he move towards it. The light shining in around the edge of the door was like a golden halo and, for a moment, Steve wondered whether he was already dead, but then the noise came again, banging, loud banging and then voices, raised, urgent and familiar.

The door opened, the light flooding in from the brilliantly illuminated and decorated room beyond. Steve saw the shadow of his tormentor as he came towards him and then felt the agony of his injuries as he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet by a hand pulling on his hair.

"Stay where you are or I'll kill him, right here in front of you." The command was barked out and Mark and Jesse, who had rushed into the open doorway, froze, their delight at seeing Steve still alive tempered by the condition and danger they found him in.

"Dad." The one word was weak, almost too weak to hear but it carried across the room, the love it contained helping it on its journey and Mark, unable to ignore the pain that was there too, took a step forward.

"I said don't move!" The gun swung towards his dad and with one final surge of adrenaline Steve called out again as he saw a flash and heard a deafening roar before his body jerked and was send flying forwards into oblivion.

ooo

The flashing had stopped, there was no Christmas tree decoration to focus on, no light coming under or around the door, and his fear rose in his throat. Steve tried to swallow, but found that he couldn't, and this, more than anything else, told him that he was still alive, that a ventilator tube proved he hadn't become victim number six, at least not yet, and slowly, cautiously, he began to open his eyes.

"Steve? That's it, Son, come on, just for a second, look at me, please, Son, look at me." The emotion made Mark's voice waiver, but the message must have gotten across, because slowly the fluttering eyelids raised and he found himself looking into a pair of eyes as blue and alive as his own.

ooo

"It needs to go higher up, we never have it that low down." The walking stick that waved perilously close to Mark's head, was pointing to a happy, rotund Father Christmas who was perched on the third branch up from the bottom of a very sparse and sad looking tree.

"Do you know how hard it is to get a Christmas tree in January? Just stop moaning and pass me another ornament." Mark turned round and held out his hand, watching with concern at the grimace of pain the simple movements were still causing his son.

"Hey, who's for egg nog?" A bright smiling face and a large bowl of a bright yellow liquid followed the cheerful voice, which floated in from the front door.

"Well, I would, if I didn't know it has a very short shelf life. I don't think my ribs can cope with food poisoning."

"I'll have you know I made this myself, and the chocolate cream pie in the refrigerator and the …"

"Stop, stop, already." Steve raised his right hand, a smile creasing his face as he did so.

"Apple pie." Jesse was determined to finish his sentence, but then he put the bowl down on the table and headed off happily to get some glasses, and open the front door for Amanda who he could see coming up the path.

ooo

"Dad, Jesse, that was great, thank you." Steve eased himself back in the chair and then let out a relaxed breath. He had only been home since the previous evening, and now, looking at his father and friends who had saved him, he felt his emotions well up and he had to rub away a tear that he refused to let fall.

"Steve, would you like to go lie down for a while?" Mark was at once concerned, hovering by his son's side in an instant.

"No, no, Dad, I'm fine, maybe later. What I'd really like is for you to tell me how you found me." Steve had asked his father, Jesse, Amanda, even Cheryl and the Captain but there had always been other things happening, tests to run, dressings to change, or statements to give and somehow he still had no idea why he wasn't six feet under right now.

"It was your dad who worked it out." Jesse squirmed in his seat, as pleased and proud at Mark's success as he would be his own.

"Each time he took a cabbie he left a gum wrapper, neatly folded." Mark began the tale a sparkle in his eyes.

"I remember that, a square, he folded it into a square." Steve thought for a moment. "Nope, I have no idea how you could have found me from that."

"Patience, Son, patience, all will be revealed." Mark smiled, able to relax and tell his tale now it was clear it had a happy ending.

"Cheryl said that you were working on a link because the cabs had been found within three to four miles from where they were taken but I couldn't see that working, it was too vague, and when we studied the map there was no pattern, no pattern at all."

Steve had spoken with Cheryl and she had just said that his dad had come at the case from a different angle. He hadn't been surprised, but a nurse had come to force yet another vial of blood from him at that moment and she had left without saying anything more.

"But the kidnap points, they did have a pattern, and then when the gum wrappers were put with it."

"How can a gum wrapper be a clue? They had no prints, and they weren't even the same brand every time. I checked that when I read everything through before I started the assignment."

"It was the square, the way it was folded, when we looked at the map the kidnappings were, once yours was added, making a square. Maybe he didn't even see the link between the paper and the cabs himself, but the square of land was deliberate."

Mark paused to take a drink of his wine and Jesse, his energy still causing him to bounce, leapt in to continue the account.

"Mark called Cheryl, got her to start looking things up on the computer, and then I drove down there, I made it in record time, didn't I?" He beamed before continuing. "There was a hive of activity when we got there, and I knew that Mark had done it again, the information was laying out on your desk, I think someone had bombed the surface so they could use it!"

"Oh, ha ha, are you gonna continue, or is it Amanda's turn now?"

His friend shook her head, extra presents for her children had appeared under the tree, and the two boys were playing happily on the kitchen floor with two remote controlled mini cars. She was enjoying their pleasure while revelling in the fact that her family was still complete and felt no necessity to join in the tale.

"The area wasn't that large, three, four blocks, and Mark had asked Cheryl to run some simple information through the system as well."

"Eighteen months ago a cab ran a red light on Riverside Drive, it ploughed into the side of a delivery truck, the driver survived, but his passenger was killed. She was a young woman called Angela Simmons, seventeen years of age, on her way to an interview for her first job. The Fare Man was her brother." Mark's face and tone were grave now and he paused again, letting the information sink in to Steve's mind.

"He said, that first day, he said we'd killed his sister. I tried to tell him about Carol, about how you don't gain anything by letting your grief take you over, but he wouldn't listen … Five households missed out on Christmas, are gonna miss out on all the things a family should do, because of him. And the driver of the cab, the cab that Angela was in, what happened to him?"

"He resigned after the accident, couldn't cope with the responsibility, Cheryl thinks she's traced him to San Diego, but why increase his guilt? It's not gonna do anyone any good."

"I guess not." Steve tried to stifle a yawn, but knew that his eagle-eyed father had spotted it.

"Bed, young man, you've only been home twenty-four hours, you need to go nap for a while."

"One more question," Steve looked into his father's eyes, "just one, I promise."

"Ok, one more."

"The killer, Simmons …"

"He'll stand trial for the five murders, you succeeded."

"Good." Another yawn took him over and he smiled a sheepish smile.

"And now, as I said, bed."

Steve knew he couldn't argue, he wasn't awake enough to do so, and carefully, easing his battered body into a standing position, he began to make his way slowly towards the guest bedroom. With his left arm and foot both encased in plaster and the wound from the gunshot to the shoulder still pulling, the journey took a while but finally he was able to sink down onto the comfortable bed and let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Dad, for everything, for today, the tree, the presents, I'm sorry that we hadn't gotten it all ready for the proper Christmas, but it didn't seem right, without Carol, y'know, in the background." He paused, and saw that his father did know, did understand, and so he continued.

"I loved her, still love her, and I miss her, but that doesn't mean that I stop doing all those things that she liked, that I like, Simmons taught me that. Grief will turn to hatred, and she is worth far more than that." For a moment he couldn't say anything, and so he lay back onto the bed and let his dad cover him up as he had done since childhood.

"I knew you'd find me, I just didn't think it would be in time. I love you, Dad." His eyes were getting heavy now, and he let out a contented yawn, but opened his eyes wide when he heard his dad raise his voice slightly.

"I love you too, Son, but your mom and me, we raised you better than to tell lies."

A blush rushed up his face as he realised that he still hadn't mentioned his dishonesty to his father. "I'm sorry, Dad, I just didn't want to worry you. I guess I failed at that, huh?"

"I know, and yes, miserably. I'm grateful that you thought of me, but don't ever, ever not worry me again, d'you hear me?"

"I hear you, Merry Christmas, Dad."

"Merry Christmas, Son."

The End.

**A/N** I hope that you enjoyed this little tale, it was fun to write, and I proved to myself that I can write a short story. If we are lucky Christmas is a time for family, I shall be with mine and I hope that if you too are lucky you will be spending the festive season with those that you love.

Tracy


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